


boats against the current

by aplaceforsteaks



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot Series, Underage Drinking, super soft boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aplaceforsteaks/pseuds/aplaceforsteaks
Summary: A series of oneshots surrounding Mac and Dennis I've been using for writing warm-ups. Will be periodically updated as I write more.





	1. everything is worse now

**Author's Note:**

> Set (and written, coincidentally) immediately post-"Time's Up for the Gang." Episode-related content warnings apply. (I apologize in advance.)

“Fuck,” said Dennis, as the elevator jolted to a stop.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mac snapped, jabbing the lobby button over and over in the hopes it would get them to move.

After the seminar, the gang had split up; Mac and Dennis went upstairs to find extra towels while Frank, Dee, and Charlie went down to the poolside bar to save them some seats. Things had been tense between them for the past half-hour, Mac still reeling from Dennis’ angry accusations.

Was he really being so predatory to him? They had spent twenty-five years of their lives touching and holding one another, like personal space didn’t even matter, and now all of a sudden Dennis didn’t want to be within five feet of him. The kissing, sure, Mac was guilty of that when he got too worked up, but he couldn’t even pat his shoulder without being brushed aside angrily. What had changed?

That was a stupid question. Mac knew exactly what had changed.

“I...” Mac began, the words strangled in his throat. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t.... I didn’t know you hated that so much.” Unspoken: I didn’t know you hated _me_ so much.

Dennis huffed, but didn’t say anything. He was avoiding eye contact, waving his phone around trying to get any sort of cell service. 

Mac tried again, a little angrier this time. “Why did you say it didn’t matter? When I came out, you said it didn’t matter to you, but obviously it does, so why won’t you just tell me?”

Dennis rolled his eyes, finally facing Mac. “It’s not because you’re gay, dude, it’s-”

“Well it sure fucking seems like it,” Mac snapped, cutting him off. “That’s the only thing that’s different, and now you can’t even be in the same room as me.”

“That’s not why!” Dennis half-shouted, getting worked up and dropping the load of towels he was holding to the floor of the elevator. “I just don’t want you getting up in my space all the time!”

“You never had a problem with it before!” Mac yelled back, pointing one finger angrily. “But now that I’m gay you think I’m just gonna- gonna rape you or whatever! That’s totally homophobic, dude!”

“It’s not fucking homophobic,” Dennis hissed. “It doesn’t matter if you’re straight or gay or bi or whatever. It’s _you_.”

For the second time that day, Mac felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“I don’t even… it’s like you’re not even the same person,” he said quietly, letting his back fall heavily against the wall. “I thought we were okay, I thought things were going to get better once I figured all this shit out, but you left for a fucking year and now everything is different. Everything is worse.”

Venom bubbled up into Mac's throat. “Maybe you should have just stayed in North Dakota,” he continued, his voice steadying. “We were fine without you, dude, we were fucking _great_ , and you just had to come back and ruin it again like you always do.”

Dennis stayed silent, listening to him with his eyebrows knitted into a frown. His expression was inscrutable; Mac wasn’t sure if he was going to break down or punch him.

As Dennis finally opened his mouth, the elevator shuddered and slid down the last few feet, opening in the lobby.

“Whatever, dude. Fuck this. I’m gonna stay at Dee’s tonight,” Mac sighed, defeated. “You can have the place to yourself to rape teenage girls or whatever else you want to do that’s so much better than hanging out with me.” He stalked off towards the pool, leaving Dennis standing in the open elevator with towels around his feet.


	2. so cool, so punk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in high school years. (This one is happier, I promise.) It might be futile to post a content warning for a show that almost constantly needs them, but this chapter contains some underage drinking (shocking, I know.)

When Barbara and Frank inevitably ran out of liquor, Mac and Dennis were left to fend for themselves.

“Asshole alcoholics don’t even have anything good,” Dennis grumbled, shutting the door of the liquor cabinet he pretended he didn’t know anything about. “And the maid’s gone for the weekend, so we’re totally dry.”

“Fuck,” Mac sighed. “My fake got taken two weeks ago at that dive bar, remember? We can’t even go to the store ourselves.”

“I could steal some of my mom’s pills,” Dennis offered. “I know she has some good shit. It’ll be hard to get into her bathroom without waking up that stupid fucking dog, though.”

“Nah, I got a better idea,” said Mac, smiling deviously. “Come on.”

-

“This was your better idea?” Dennis deadpanned. “Paying a homeless guy to buy it for us?”

“Look, dude, all the clerks in this neighborhood already know I try and steal liquor from them,” Mac sighed. “This way, at least we don’t have to worry about shoplifting anything.”

“I swear to God, if we get caught again, this is all your fault,” said Dennis, pointing an accusatory finger in Mac’s face.

“Come on, it’ll be fine. Me and Charlie do this shit all the time.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

“Bottle o’ vodka for you boys,” the homeless man slurred, stumbling out of the corner store.

“For you boys, huh?” said a booming voice from behind them.

Mac and Dennis spun around very, very slowly to find a police officer standing directly behind them, hands on his hips. Mac held the bottle behind his back as if it would get them out of trouble.

“Now I don’t suppose either of you are twenty-one,” the cop continued, more of a statement than a question.

“Well, you see, this is all a big misunderstanding-” Dennis tried to explain, voice shaking as he tried desperately not to panic.

Wide-eyed, Mac turned to look directly at Dennis and mouth the word run. Dennis’ mouth opened a little, still in shock. Rolling his eyes, Mac spun on his heels, vodka in one hand, Dennis’ forearm in the other, and yanked him in the direction of the nearest alleyway.

Mac’s hand slid down Dennis’ arm and grabbed his hand tightly. Finally, Dennis’ feet unstuck and he let Mac pull him along, down the alley and around the corner to the next street.

Distantly, they could hear the cop shouting behind them, giving chase and threatening to call for backup, but by the time they had run five blocks and rounded another corner the officer was out of earshot. Laughing maniacally, Mac dragged the two of them towards the woods at a brisk walk, smiling ear-to-ear at their daring escape.

A part of Dennis reminded him that their hands were still intertwined, fingers laced together as they walked side-by-side into the little patch of woods, but he made no movement to let go.

“That was fucking awesome, dude!” Mac crowed once they were out of sight of the street, finally dropping Dennis’ hand to hoist himself up onto a fallen tree and unscrew the cap of the vodka bottle. “That fat bitch couldn’t keep up with us! Man, we can’t go back to that liquor store anymore, though. Charlie’s gonna be pissed.”

Dennis allowed himself a small smile, pulling himself up next to Mac close enough that their thighs were touching. “You think he’s still following us?”

“Nah, they usually give up after ten minutes or so,” said Mac with an air of expertise. “We’re in the clear, dude, and we got away with the bottle.” Still grinning like an idiot, he lifted the bottle and took a long swig, wincing as it burned his throat.

Dennis took the bottle from Mac as he held it out, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. “Ugh, I’m tired of this bottom-shelf shit,” he complained, but took another sip anyway. “I need to get myself a new fake.”

“Neither of us look 21,” Mac reminded him unhelpfully. Already a quarter of the bottle was gone.

“Hopefully next weekend my parents will have something better,” Dennis promised. 

For a while, the two of them sat in silence, picking bits of bark off of their makeshift bench and tossing them aimlessly into the trees. Dennis was suddenly very aware of the way Mac’s arm brushed against his every time he drew back to throw.

After a few hours they got bored and polished off most of the bottle, hardly able to see each other in the deep twilight. “Come to my house,” Dennis slurred, his head spinning. “My mom’s probably passed out by now, she won’t even see you come in.”

Mac nodded, trying unsuccessfully to jump off the fallen tree and landing on his ass in the leaves below. He giggled, extending a hand expectantly to Dennis. Dennis climbed down more slowly, only stumbling a little bit, and hoisted Mac up, pulling him so hard they almost crashed into each other. 

Together they meandered down the darkened streets towards Dennis’ neighborhood, loudly debating whether they should watch Predator or pay-per-view porn (Predator won, as it did every weekend.) And if Mac’s hand once again wove itself into Dennis’, he didn’t say a word, and just let Mac pull him street by street until they collapsed, together, on the living room couch, as inseparable as always.


	3. never sleep in the front seat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gang goes back to their high school roots. Set post-Season 2 (i.e. after Frank joins.) Featuring super-soft Dennis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could make one change to Always Sunny, I would make them smoke more weed. You just know Mac can roll some killer blunts. Don't ask why I know how to roll a blunt, because you won't like the answer. Ironically, I was sober when I wrote this.

Mac drummed his fingers rhythmically on the surface of the bar as he drank a beer with his other hand. Dennis was glaring at his hand from the other side of the bar, but he wasn’t so annoyed yet that he was going to make him stop, so Mac continued, if only to see how long he could keep it going.

The bar was pretty much empty; the two of them had the opening shift, and it was barely eight o’clock. Mostly they had just been drinking in silence since they had officially opened, both of them staring blankly over each others’ shoulders as they slipped into a comfortable buzz. Mac was normally brimming with inane conversation, but the boredom was crushing his brain like a vise and squeezing out any half-formed thought in his head. Dennis was tense, as usual, but not in a bad way, just in the way that kept him from putting his head down on the sticky bar and going to sleep standing up.

Mac finished the rest of his beer in one gulp and slammed it down on the table.

“Do you wanna get high?”

Dennis put his own drink down.

“I do. I really do.”

After a quick glance around to confirm that the bar was, indeed, empty, they disappeared into the back office.

The bottom desk drawer was mostly devoted to stupid shit like "tax returns" and "inventory checklists," but underneath the stacks of paper Mac kept a tin Superman lunchbox filled with their bar weed. It was supposed to be emergencies-only, like if they got snowed in overnight and they needed something to do when drinking got too boring and they weren’t quite desperate enough to huff paint with Charlie, but as far as Mac was concerned this level of boredom was in itself an emergency.

Mac had stopped selling weed after they bought the bar, but he still had a number of connections, so there was a decent amount left in a ziploc baggie along with two lighters, a grinder, and a little pipe he’d had since high school. There was also a packet of cigarillos buried underneath the rest of the paraphernalia, with one still left untouched.

“Let’s roll a blunt,” Dennis suggested, perching on the edge of the desk while Mac sat in the office chair.

Mac nodded, already grinding some up. “Can you grab me the lime knife?”

“Gross, dude,” said Dennis, but he popped up anyway to grab it from behind the bar. 

Mac loved rolling blunts, mostly because he was really, _really_ good at it, but also a little bit because he loved how Dennis loved to watch him roll. Already he was sitting on the edge of the desk, transfixed, as Mac carefully slit the cigarillo open and swept the unused tobacco into the trash. He didn’t look up, but he could feel Dennis’ penetrating gaze on his fingers as he tapped weed into the empty paper and rolled it up. They made eye contact once, briefly, as Mac had his tongue out to lick the edge of the paper, and Mac’s cheeks heated up just a little. He waved the lighter underneath the blunt to dry it off, concentrating maybe a little too hard on the way the flame danced and not on Dennis beside him.

Once he was done, Dennis plucked the blunt out of his hands, using the lighter from his pocket to light the end while holding it delicately between his lips. Mac opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Dennis had already taken a generous hit, exhaling the smoke into the space between them where it curled around itself and obscured their view.

Scowling a little, Mac took the blunt from him, taking his own long drag and showing off by blowing little smoke rings up towards the ceiling.

“Showoff,” Dennis said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t do it,” Mac replied, passing the blunt back to him.

As much as Dennis hated to admit it, Mac was right; after two unsuccessful rings he puffed the rest of the smoke out in a frustrating sigh.

The two of them smoked half the blunt in comfortable silence, Dennis scooting to his left so that Mac was now seated between his outstretched legs, looking up at him from where his head had fallen against the back of the chair.

“When was the last time you smoked?” Dennis asked.

“I dunno, last week, I guess?” Mac shrugged. “Charlie and I hotboxed Dee’s car in the back alley when we worked closing together.”

Dennis was about to reply, but he was interrupted by knocking on the door behind him.

“Are you guys smoking in there?” Dee was calling. “Let me in, shitheads. It's your fault my car reeks, you owe me.”

Dennis was tempted to just lock the door and ignore her, but Mac had already stood up to let her in. She grabbed the blunt from where Dennis held it between two fingers and sucked in a big breath, enough that the ash on the end of it wavered and fell to the floor.

“Charlie, get in here,” she yelled, and Charlie stuck his head in, his eyes lighting up as he saw them smoking.

“Oh shit, you rolled a blunt?” he said, sitting down next to Dee on the floor and taking his own hit when she passed it to him.

“You guys are early,” Dennis commented, a little irked that they were now forced to share. “I thought you guys weren’t coming in until nine.”

“It is nine,” said Dee. “How long have you guys been in here?”

“Longer than we thought, I guess,” said Mac, his eyes already drooping half-shut.

Dennis took the last hit before the blunt was too small to hold anymore, dropping the roach squarely into the ashtray on the desk.

“Pack a bowl, pack a bowl,” Charlie was needling, and Mac sighed and pulled out his orange-and-yellow striped pipe and obediently packed another bowl. He tried to be precise, but his fine motor skills were lacking, and he spilled little crumbs of weed on the table as he clumsily fit most of it into the bowl of the pipe. Dennis absentmindedly gathered it all up with one finger, and Mac held the pipe out so he could sprinkle what was left onto the top.

Mac took the first hit, but he passed the bowl to Dennis next, defying their usual pass-left rule. Dee looked like she was about to squawk about it, but an icy look from Dennis over the top of the pipe shut her up. The smoke no longer burned; in fact, it was relaxing now, replacing the oxygen in his lungs with a hit that made the tips of his fingers tingle. When he exhaled, it was directly towards Dee, but he was far enough away that it dispersed before it could reach her.

“Do you guys ever think about how fucking crazy it is that we own a bar?” Mac asked, his heavy-lidded eyes sparkling with laughter. “Like, we literally own this place. We can drink here for free anytime we want.”

“Technically, only me, you, and Frank own the bar,” Dennis pointed out unhelpfully. 

“You know what I mean,” Mac whined. “Like, we’re Small Business Owners.”

Dennis could hear the capitalization in the words. “Not very good ones,” he said. “The bar is open and we’re all locked back here smoking.”

“Eh, they’re used to it,” Dee shrugged. “We leave all the time and none of our regulars seem to complain.”

“They definitely complain, we just don’t do anything about it,” said Dennis. “They should be glad we’re not supervising them.”

“We should get _food_ ,” Charlie said. “I think I stashed some chips in the vent up there, hold on-”

He climbed up on the table and pulled the vent off with his fingers, letting the grate swing down to where it was held up by a single screw on the bottom. The rest of them couldn’t control their giggles as he forced his way into the vent itself, wiggling his legs comically as he tried to fit his whole body in there. They were still laughing when he wriggled backwards and hopped down to the floor, brandishing an unopened bag of chips in one hand.

“Ew, Charlie, how long have those been up there?” said Dee, her lip curling in disgust.

“Shut the fuck up and have some chips,” Mac snapped, taking the bag from Charlie to open it and pass it around.

Normally Dennis wouldn’t snack, but the weed had dropped his blood sugar dangerously low, and he would have been lying if the smell of salt and oil wasn’t doing wonderful things to his stomach at that moment. He started off just taking one at a time, letting the rest of the gang stuff their faces, but by the third time the chips had cycled around he was grabbing handfuls just like everyone else.

Mac was eating with his eyes closed. “Dude, I literally feel the chip going all the way down into my stomach and, like, giving my body more energy,” he mumbled, smiling with his eyes still closed.

“I mean, your stomach is basically a furnace,” said Charlie with his mouth half full. “And food is just, like, the trash you put in it to keep the bar working.”

Dennis almost said something, but he thought better of himself. There was no use in arguing with Charlie, especially not when he could barely form his own argument.

They smoked another bowl after they cleared out the chip bag, and they were halfway through a fourth when another loud knock came from the other side of the door.

“Are you smoking pot back here?” Frank snapped angrily, opening the door with his own key. Mac, mid-hit, hid the bowl under the desk, holding his breath. There wasn’t really a point; by then the office was so smoky that it was spilling out around Frank into the rest of the bar. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing instead of working?” Frank asked, and they all nodded sheepishly, Mac sputtering and coughing out a good amount of smoke.

“You goddamn degenerates. Dee, go make yourself useful at the bar. Charlie, one of the toilets in the men’s room is clogged again.”

The two of them groaned, but Frank’s glare was enough to get them on their feet and out into the bar, grumbling and dragging their feet the entire time.

“Gimme a hit of that,” Frank insisted, and Dennis passed the bowl over to him, watching as he took a deep hit and gave the pipe back. “You two clean up here and then get your asses outside.”

“Whatever,” Dennis grumbled, taking the bowl from Frank and lighting the rest of it until there was nothing but gray ash left. Frank left in a huff, shutting the two of them back in the office alone.

“Fuck Frank, dude,” said Mac, grinning stupidly. “Let’s take this shit home and hit my bong and watch fucking Animal Planet or something.”

Dennis smiled. “Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here. They don’t need any more help anyway.”

When the rest of the gang was distracted, Mac and Dennis slipped out the back door, probably more conspicuously than they had planned. It was a warm night, and the air felt good in Dennis’s lungs as he inhaled deeply and coughed once or twice. For once, the world felt manageable, like all the sharp sounds and colors and textures had been dulled and blurred into a pleasant dusky blue.

Mac was already chattering away, and Dennis trailed after him silently, content to just listen as he rambled on about penguins or something equally stupid and entertaining. He couldn’t help but smile a bit at Mac’s childlike excitement, already bouncing around like an idiot in the back alley. It felt warm, and right, like relaxing into your pillow after a long day and feeling the muscles in your neck soften and release all their tension. If he closed his eyes, Mac’s voice could just carry him away, letting them lead him along into a stoned kind of joy.


End file.
